


Lacrimosa

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death had taken him away from her five years ago, and still it felt as though it were yesterday that she’d last kissed him, that she’d told him once more how much she loved him. With her husband, Druella had also buried her heart, yet the pain would never cease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



Five years. 

Druella Black gasped for breath at the realisation, yet shook her head in disdain over her foolishness barely a second later. She hadn’t forgotten, of course she hadn’t. Even if she wanted nothing more than to erase from her memory what wasn’t to be erased, never to be forced to think about it, never to be forced to remember, how could she? How could she possibly forget, if the darkness inside of her seemed to grow with every passing day, if it sometimes seemed to swallow her, never to let go again? How could she forget, if… 

She would have long surrendered to that darkness, were it not for her daughters. 

Druella smiled at the thought of her girls, her beautiful girls, all so alike and yet so different, even now. Bellatrix and Andromeda both resembled her own looks, were merely distinguishable by Andy’s softer features, while Narcissa was the spitting image of her father. She was only four, yet sometimes she’d look at her with her wide, ice blue eyes, sometimes she’d smile at her and all Druella could see was Cygnus. Cygnus, her Cygnus… How much she missed him, how much she needed him. And how much she wished that her daughters were given the chance to grow up knowing their father… He had left this world too early, not granted to hold his youngest child in his arms, not granted to say good-bye. 

Five years. Death had taken him away from her five years ago, and still it felt as though it were yesterday that she’d last kissed him, that she’d told him once more how much she loved him. With her husband, Druella had also buried her heart, yet the pain would never cease. 

But what was she supposed to do? Drown in her grief, so much like Cassiopeia who had never overcome her betrothed’s untimely death? Give in to her emotions, allow them to assume control, allow them to paralyse her like they had once already? Was she supposed to forget about her duties, to forget about her girls? Perhaps it was her fate to be alone, never to be held by her husband again. Perhaps it was her fate to live a widow’s life — after all, her other life that had ended in the moment they had ripped Cygnus’ lifeless body from her arms — but her daughters deserved to be happy as long as they could, deserved to be happy more than anything. They were only girls after all, only children… Too young to understand what it meant to grieve, too young to know about loss or honour. Yet she knew that before long they, too, would lose their light-heartedness, and that, before long, she’d be forced to teach them what it meant to bear the name of Black. 

Blood, honour, names… These words had once meant everything to her, were supposed to mean everything still. Yet, none would bring her husband back to her, none would give her hold when she seemed to be falling, none would give her comfort in times of greatest despair. 

What had she done to deserve such a destiny, Druella sometimes asked herself, what would still await her? Were her daughters to be taken away from her as well, were she one day to lose her biggest treasure? 

Losing her daughters would mean her certain death. 

Druella had once sworn herself never to allow anything to hurt her again. In the moment she had found her parents dead in the drawing room, lying in a bed of their own blood, she had sworn herself to harden her heart against anything to come. She had sworn herself never to feel, never to love, never to shed a single tear again, and she had failed. Her husband’s death had taken her breath away, had made her lose ground, had caused her entire world to crumble down on her, burying her beneath the ashes. 

It had been as though she were a girl again, eighteen, helpless and paralysed with horror. 

“Let me go!” she had screamed, desperately struggling to free herself from Cygnus’ grip in order to rush to the bodies, but he had held her, firmly pressed her head against his chest, covering her eyes with his palm. “Let me go, please! Please! Let me go!” 

“It’s too late,” Cygnus had whispered as her cries fell silent, catching her when she collapsed against his body, only slowly realising that he was right. “It’s too late, Ella… You cannot help them anymore…”

No one had been there to hold her when she found her husband. 

Druella barely had any memory of his funeral. She had not wept, had only stared straight ahead into nothing, carefully cradling Andromeda in her arms. She’d heard the people whisper behind her back, had felt their gazes burning on her skin, had answered their questions as though she had gone into a trance, as though she had become numb, yet she never looked at them. 

Her breakdown had come when she was alone at last, when her girls were safely asleep, long after nightfall. It was not until hours later that exhaustion overcame her, and when at dawn she woke, she found her head resting on her husband’s pillow, moistened by her tears. 

Five years. 

The door to her bedroom opened, interrupting her thoughts, causing Druella to turn around, and to smile. 

“Cissy… Have you had nightmares again?”

Carefully, she lifted her daughter into her arms and held her, not letting go even long after she had fallen back asleep. She was barely able to distract herself from her thoughts as she later carried Narcissa back to bed, sitting down on the edge for a moment to look at her and absently stroke over her soft, blonde hair. 

“Sleep tight, my sweet girl,” she whispered, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, blowing out the candle as she quietly left the room, now tired as well and ready to prepare herself to go to sleep. How beautiful her daughter was, she thought… And how much she looked like her father. 

Five years. 

Sometimes, Druella would still wait for him. Sometimes, she found herself in the firm belief that he would return to her, that she would open her eyes and that he would lay beside her, smile at her as though he had never been gone. Sometimes, she still wept when her hand reached into nothing. 

Five years.


End file.
